I couldn’t take it. I could do silence on my own.
When my first cup was empty, I set it in the sink and
announced that I was going to go check on Jace. No one even looked up.
My father was still alone in his office, staring down at his desk blotter, sipping from another short glass. Jace wasn’t in either the dining room or the living room, so on my way to the back door, I checked the room Ethan and Owen had shared, just in case. It was empty, thank goodness. I wasn’t sure I could handle being in there just yet.
I also checked on Kaci, who seemed to be sleeping now, rather than truly unconscious. She was even snoring lightly, and had turned onto her side, while Dr. Carver dozed in the chair beside her bed, his mouth hanging open. Now that I knew the kitten was okay. I couldn’t help hoping her nap would last a little while. I had to get myself under control before I could explain Ethan’s death to the thirteen-year-old he’d died defending.
I headed into the backyard, where the frozen grass—stubbornly resisting the weak warmth of the winter sun—reminded me that I’d forgotten my shoes. Instead of going back for them, I raced across the yard toward the guesthouse. The frigid air and bright morning light were invigorating, but did nothing to alleviate the black mood that had enveloped me with Ethan’s death and showed no sign of fading.
The rough wood planks of the guesthouse porch were a relief to my feet after sharp, icy blades of grass, and I paused to gather myself before going in. But my thoughts weren’t clear enough to truly organize, so I
opened the door and stepped inside anyway. I’d have to wing it.
The door creaked and gave away my presence, but Jace didn’t look up. He sat on the floor, leaning against the beat-up couch with his knees bent in front of his chest, his heavily wrapped right arm draped over them. His head hung low, as if his neck would no longer support it. His shirt lay on the floor against the opposite wall, where he’d obviously thrown it after the doc had cut it off to tend to his injury.
In that moment, for the first time in my life, I wished I was older. Wiser. I wished desperately for the words to comfort us both. But I didn’t have them. I had only my own misery, and the willingness to keep his misery company.
The door squealed again as I closed it, cutting off the icy draft, and I crossed the scarred hardwood to sink cross-legged to the floor next to him. “Hey.”
“Hey.” His voice was gruff, as if he had a cold. But he didn’t look up.
I inhaled deeply and nearly choked on the scent of tequila, though a glance around the room revealed no bottle and no glasses, other than the usual sticky, half-empty ones standing on cheap, scarred end tables around the room. But when I leaned forward and looked around Jace’s legs, I found a bottle of Jose Cuervo, a third of the way gone, no lid in sight.
“How’s your arm?”
“All sewn up, but even after Shifting twice, it looks like chopped sirloin. Still hurts like hell, but this works
better than the doc’s big white pills.” He held up the bottle briefly.
“You probably should have taken the pills.”
“They only work on my arm,” he whispered, and I didn’t need to ask where else he hurt. The doctor’s pills couldn’t touch a broken heart. I knew that better than most.
I sighed and leaned against the couch, forcing my gaze back to my brother’s lifelong best friend, who was hurting every bit as much as I was. “Pass the bottle.”
He finally looked up, frowning. “You hate tequila.”
“I hate this more.” Surely a drink would quiet the incessant buzz of angry questions swarming my head so I could concentrate on one at a time.
Or so that maybe—for just a little while—I could think about nothing.
He passed the Cuervo with his good hand, and I guessed by the absence of a glass that we were drinking straight from the bottle. I turned it up without hesitation and made myself swallow twice. The alcohol burned bitterly going down, but if anything, it seemed to bring feeling back to my insides, which had been numb for the better part of the morning.
Jace took the bottle back and gulped from it, besting me by at least three swallows. This time he set it between us and met my gaze. Brown waves fell around his forehead, framing reddened eyes that blazed bright blue, shimmering with tears. “Why the
hell
would Calvin risk all-out war to snatch Kaci?”
I let my head fall back against the couch and stared
at the opposite wall. “Because my dad wouldn’t hand her over peacefully.” And because he was probably
counting
on all-out war. But I didn’t want to mention that possibility to Jace just yet.
“What?” His eyes widened, and his hand clenched around the neck of the bottle.
“I heard him on the phone with Milo Mitchell, and Mitchell was clearly speaking on your stepfather’s behalf. He said that because of the allegations against my dad, and Kaci’s failing health, several of the council members voted to remove her from the ranch.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Yeah.” I took the bottle and tipped it back again. “Hardly matters now, though, does it?”
Jace didn’t answer, so I lifted the bottle one more time. I took three more swallows of tequila and knew I was done. I wanted to be numb, not drunk, and if I kept drinking so fast, even with my enhanced metabolic rate, I’d be risking impaired judgment.
But Jace took another long drink. “Why did he do it, Faythe?” he demanded, and I knew we were no longer talking about Calvin Malone. Jace put the bottle down and covered his eyes with one hand, his jaw trembling with the effort to hold back tears. If he cried, I’d begin all over again.
I started to tell him I didn’t know. But I
did
know. “Because that’s who he is.”
Was,
my brain insisted, but my heart rejected the internal edit. “Ethan lived larger than life, and it kind of makes sense that he’d die that way. Protecting someone else.”
But it did
not
make sense that he’d die at twenty-five years old.
Jace nodded but looked less than convinced. He stared into my eyes from inches away, his focus shifting from one to the other, as if he were searching for some great truth deep inside me. But whatever that truth was, I didn’t possess it, and finally he gave up looking. He blinked, and when his eyes opened again, they were full of tears, magnifying the rings of cobalt that made up his irises.
“What am I going to do without him?”
My heart broke, not just because of the words, but because of the earnest despair with which he spoke them.
I inhaled deeply, and when that didn’t help, I reached for the bottle again. One more wouldn’t hurt, and I couldn’t stand the pain in his eyes without it. So I took a long gulp. Then another, just for good measure.
It didn’t burn so much that time. Which was probably a bad sign.
“You’re going to do the same thing I’m going to do,” I said, trying to project strength I didn’t feel. “The same thing we’re all going to do. Today, you’re going to cry, and scream, and hit things if you need to. Let it all out now. Because soon we’re going to make them pay, and for that, we’ll need everyone in top form.”
Especially with so many of our men out looking for Marc. Our forces were split, and our numbers were dwindling faster than we could replace the missing members. And the truth was that we didn’t
want
to replace them. We wanted them all
back.
Including Marc.
I wouldn’t be able to stand losing him so close to losing Ethan.
“Count on it.” Jace closed his eyes briefly, as if whatever he had to say next would be especially painful. “I’ll have to go after that. After we make Calvin pay.”
“What? Why?” I sat up too fast, and the entire room spun around me, my pulse racing in alarm. Would he really desert us when we needed him most? When we were already crippled by a double loss?
Jace frowned, like his logic should have been obvious. “I’m here because of Ethan.” He raised the bottle again, as if those very words hurt. “He’s more of a brother to me than my own brothers, and he was the only one who ever really gave a damn about me after my dad died and my mom married Calvin. He got your dad to take me on as an enforcer the day I turned eighteen, to get me away from Cal. But now Ethan’s gone, and it’s my stepfather’s fault. You think Greg’s still going to want me around? To remind him every day of how his son died?”
He gulped from the bottle again, and I was shocked to see that it was now more than half-gone. How much had he had? How much had
I
had?
“Okay, give me that.” I took the tequila, and he let me because he thought I was going to drink from it again. Instead, I reached back to set it on the nearest end table. But the table seemed to tilt away from me, and I almost missed.
“Listen to me, Jace,” I began, but by then his eyelids
were heavy and his eyes were starting to look glazed. It was too late for much real listening on his part, and soon I might be past the point of rational speech. But I had to try.
“
Look
at me.” I held his chin, short stubble rough beneath my fingers, and made him meet my eyes. “Daddy’s not going to kick you out. He wouldn’t let you go if you
tried
to. And neither would I. We
need
you.” My own eyes filled with tears, my recent losses threatening to overwhelm me. “Please don’t go. I can’t handle losing you, too.”
Jace blinked and his expression shifted, his focus narrowing on me, as if everything else had ceased to exist. On his face, I saw only pain and need, and I dropped his chin, nearly scalded by the look in his eyes.
His good hand rose slowly, and when his fingers touched my cheek they were warm.
So
warm. “You’re all I have left.”
Oh,
no.
He would never have said that if he were sober. He might have
thought
it, but wouldn’t have vocalized.
But before I could respond—and I had no idea what to say—his hand slid back to cup my head, and he kissed me.
J
ace’s mouth was soft and warm, and damp with tequila. He tasted like the numbness I craved. Like comfort, and shared pain. I could have become mired in that kiss like quicksand—unaware I was sinking until it was too late to fight. And for a moment I was. I got lost in mutual, inarticulate grief and the promise of a temporary respite.
And I kissed him back. Simply because it felt good. Everything around me was falling apart. Ryan was missing, Manx had been declawed, and my father was being impeached. Kaci was slowly killing herself, and Ethan was dead.
And Marc was gone.
But Jace was right there, and kissing him felt
good,
when I really needed
something
to. That kiss was the only thing in my life that didn’t hurt, at that moment. Though if I’d thought it through, I would have known that in the end, it could hurt as badly as any of those other life-wounds.
But I wasn’t thinking. I was
feeling.
I was feeling Jace’s mouth on mine. His scent surrounding me. His hand in my hair. I was feeling how badly he wanted this. How badly he wanted
me,
and needed to know that someone still loved him. Especially now that Ethan was gone, leaving a huge wound in both of our hearts. A wound begging to be healed…
We couldn’t heal it.
Ever.
A small part of each of us had died along with Ethan, and we could never get those parts back. The best we could do was bandage the wounds.
He kissed me again, and I was no more prepared the second time around. But
he
was. That second kiss started out gentle, but built quickly when I didn’t pull away. I
should
have pulled away. But I didn’t, and the next thing I knew, I was pressed between the front of the couch and the front of Jace, his hand on my waist, his tongue in my mouth. His grief feeding my own.
His mouth sucked at mine desperately, his lips soft but insistent. His left hand tilted my head gently, giving him a deeper angle, and when my fingers found the curve of his good arm, his pulse spiked. He inhaled sharply, but his mouth never left mine.
I pulled away, confused as a wave of dizziness washed over me. “Wait…”
“I’ve always loved you,” he murmured against my ear, his words slurred but earnest. He kissed me again, and whatever resistance I’d felt before melted away like sugar on my tongue. My hand trailed from his arm to his chest, lingering on the smooth, hard lines, and I
found myself deepening our kiss, sucking on his lower lip as he moaned into my mouth.
His fingers traced my hair down my back, then followed my lowest rib around to my stomach, where he lifted my shirt slowly, trailing his fingers along my skin.
I groaned when his hand found my right breast through my bra, and his tongue dipped deeper into my mouth. Then, suddenly impatient, he pulled the material from my skin and lifted my breast, squeezing gently.
My heart sped up until I thought it would break free from my chest, and I closed my eyes as a surge of vertigo crashed over me, liberally laced with an intoxicating dose of need.
Jace pulled away from me just long enough to tug my shirt over my head, careful with his injured arm, then his mouth found mine again quickly, as if to cut off any protest I might utter. His hands went around my back, and an instant later my bra gave way, leaving my breasts bare and heavy. I let the material fall to the floor, as his good arm slipped around me again, angling us both sideways as he gently lowered me to the floor, propped on his right elbow, as if he felt no pain from his injured limb.
The hardwood was cold against my back, but I only had a moment to notice that, because in the next, he’d tugged the button at my waist free from its hole, and was pulling my pants down, one-handed. My jeans landed in a heap on the floor near my head.
Jace was undressed in less than a heartbeat, and his warm, firm weight settled onto me as his mouth found
mine again. He throbbed against my stomach, hot and hard. His hand roamed slowly down my side. He gripped my hip tightly and groaned against my jaw as his lips trailed toward my throat. I curled my hand in his hair and he shifted carefully to one side, pushing my underwear down, gripping my backside as the material slid over my skin.
He sat up on his knees then and fumbled for his pants with both hands, flinching when his bandaged arm brushed the couch. Plastic ripped, and I had a moment to wonder if he always carried a condom in his pocket. Then he was back.
Pleasantly dizzy, I let my fingers wander his back as the muscles bunched and shifted with each movement. My spine arched as his tongue wet a path from my throat to trail between my breasts. He lifted my left leg, then settled himself between my thighs.
My pulse spiked, and I felt my legs wrap around his waist. They tightened around him involuntarily when his hand moved between us. His mouth closed around my nipple, sucking gently as one finger slid inside me, testing. I clenched around him, and he groaned again, withdrawing his finger slowly.
My head swam, and I tried to close my eyes. But he took my chin in hand until I looked at him. Then he entered me gradually, as if each centimeter should be treasured individually. I couldn’t breathe until he was all the way in, filling me with an unfamiliar thickness. For a moment, neither of us moved.
His eyes burned into me, blue flames of pain and
longing, blazing in spite of the tears threatening to douse them. Then he moved within me, and I arched up to meet him with each stroke, my fingers trailing over the familiar planes of his body—lines and muscles I’d seen a million times but never truly experienced.
His eyes never closed. Not even at the end, when everything tightened around an intense spiral of pleasure, uncoiling within me. Within us both. My hips arched to meet his, seeking more friction, faster contact. And finally he shuddered from head to toe as my legs clenched around his hips, holding us tightly together.
I let my eyes close, and my body relaxed onto the floor, allowing the cold surface of the wood to leach some of the heat from our union, mercifully cooling my overheated body.
“Faythe…” he said, running one finger down the damp line of my chin, angling my face toward him. I opened my eyes to find the cobalt in his sparkling brighter than I’d ever seen it.
But that blue wasn’t right. I should have been looking into
brown
eyes, sparkling with tiny flecks of gold.
This is all wrong!
“No. Oh,
no.
Jace, I…” I planted both hands on his chest and pushed him away, guilt and confusion shredding my heart like claws through cotton. What the hell had I
done?
Tears filled my eyes, mercifully blurring first his bewilderment, then heartbreak. Then horror. He scrambled off me, banging his bad arm on the sofa cushion and leaving me cold and empty. And miserable.
“Faythe…?” The tremor in his voice broke my heart. Then understanding surfaced, and his tear-filled eyes searched mine desperately. “No.
No,
” he whispered through clenched teeth. “This was
not
wrong. It’s the only thing I’ve done right in months. Don’t you
dare
regret this.”
“Jace, I’m sorry….”
“Damn you, Faythe.” He choked on the words, holding back his own sob. He grabbed my arm, holding me in place when I tried to stand. “I’m not going to let you do this to yourself. Or to me. No matter what happens next, we’ve done
nothing
wrong. We were there for each other. That’s it.”
I nodded, but I knew better, and my heart felt so heavy each beat actually hurt. “I know. But this…” I gestured back and forth between us. “We can’t do this. I’m with Marc. I
love
Marc. “And the real bitch was that I’d still love him even if he never forgave me for what I’d just done. Which was a virtual guarantee…
Fresh tears trailed down my cheeks, scalding me as I looked at Jace. Hating myself. Weren’t things bad enough already? How did I always manage to make everything worse?
Determination glinted in his eyes, and was set in the firm line of his mouth. “This isn’t about Marc. I
know
you love him, and he’d move the earth to be with you. We
all
know that. But I love you, too, and we could be missing out on something great.” His sudden fortitude shocked me. Scared me. “Faythe, don’t push me away. You’re
all
I have left.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and took several deep breaths, trying not to smell Jace in front of me, not to taste him on my lips. But it was useless. In that moment, Jace was
everywhere.
He was in my mind, he was in my heart, and he was in my memory. He smelled good. He tasted good. And the blissful aftershock still throbbing in my most sensitive places felt wonderful, when everything else in my life was an obstacle to be overcome.
No! That’s not
fair.
I shouldn’t feel pleasure and comfort from someone else while Marc was out there suffering somewhere, trying to get back to me.
“Don’t do this, Jace,” I begged, because the truth was that I wasn’t sure I could put this behind me, if he wasn’t willing to do the same thing. I opened my eyes to find him staring at me in heartrending vulnerability backed by resolve the likes of which I’d never seen in him. “We can’t do this to Marc.”
Jace shook his head, and a fine, hard edge of irritation peeked through his expression, as if he were tired of having to explain such simple concepts. “I’m not asking you to leave him. I’m just asking you not to leave
me.
Don’t count me out.”
What? My heart tripped, and my stomach pitched in anticipation. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I can wait. For now. But when things get back to normal—assuming that ever happens—I want my shot. We can make each other happy, Faythe. I know it. And I’m done walking away from things I want just because they don’t come easily. You’re worth the work.”
Oh,
now,
he decides he’s Alpha material…
The front door opened on my left, and cold air swirled inside to douse the heat we’d built. Jace whirled around and swiped the back of one hand across his mouth, as if that would hide what we’d done.
It wouldn’t, and neither would covering myself, yet I pulled my shirt from the pile of discarded clothing and clutched it to my chest, as if it could also cover my guilt.
Dr. Danny Carver stood frozen in the entry, one hand still on the doorknob. His face was carefully devoid of judgment, but in the werecat world, that only meant he was thinking things he didn’t want us to see. “Um… Greg wants everyone in his office.”
“Sure.” Jace stood and scooped up his pants in a single, graceful movement no human could have managed. Though in that moment, I probably couldn’t have managed it, either. “Let me get a clean shirt.” His eyes were still red, and the doc’s gaze softened when he saw that. He thought he knew what had happened; I could see that in his face. He thought we were comforting each other the best way we knew how. And he was right. But he had no idea it went beyond that. Maybe way,
way
beyond that.
Jace was gone in seconds, his heavy steps echoing up the stairs, and a moment later, water ran from the shower. But his eyes burned into mine from my own memory, long after he was gone.
I pulled my shirt over my head and stood to step into my underwear, gripping the arm of the couch for balance. I was dizzy, and I didn’t know whether I had Jace or the tequila to thank for that.
“You okay?” Carver closed the door and reached for my arm to steady me, but I waved him off as I pulled my pants back on. “I’m fine. Well, as fine as everyone else, anyway.”
He nodded and lifted the mostly empty bottle of tequila from the end table, amusement glinting in his eyes. “Faythe, this is only to be used under the supervision of a
responsible
adult. And for the record, Jace Hammond doesn’t qualify.”
But he had no idea how much growing up Jace had just done.
I sighed, dreading what I had to say next, but knowing it had to be said. “Dr. Carver, Danny,
please
don’t tell anyone….” I let my eyes plead for me and, to my horror, they began to water, and suddenly the doc swam in a swirling pool of my own regret and confusion.
“About you and Jace?”
“There
is
no me and Jace,” I insisted, wiping away tears with the heels of my hands.
There
can’t
be….
“That’s not what it looked like.”
“Doc—”
But he held up one hand to cut me off. “It’s none of my business.” That was an attitude no one else seemed to share and part of me thought it would be easier if he’d just start yelling. I knew how to handle yelling.
The doctor shrugged and tequila sloshed in the bottle. “You’re both upset, and when people aren’t thinking straight, shit happens.” Bending, he picked up the lid and screwed it on before setting the bottle down.
“And we all know Cuervo’s good at making shit happen. Just tell me you know what you’re doing and promise you won’t have any more of
this,
and I’ll forget I saw anything.”
I sighed and sank onto the couch, my head buried in both hands. “I’ve got that second one covered. No more tequila. But the truth is that I have no idea what the
hell
I’m doing.”
Carver smiled sympathetically. “Well, until you figure it out, I suggest you take a shower. You smell like Jace.”